


Guns and Duct Tape

by oshunanat



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M, pr0n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oshunanat/pseuds/oshunanat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn.</p><p>Pure second-person porn.</p><p>Inspired by dref22's awesome HRG role-play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guns and Duct Tape

You curse yourself for having to park in such a distant spot—it's after the Christmas rush, so the mall isn't exactly crowded, but you just had to get in some post-Holiday stress eating exercise.

You quickly become so engaged in trying to find your keys that you don't notice when someone else falls into step behind you.

You stop to disentangle your keys from your phone strap when the cold presence of hard steel against your spine makes you stop and stiffen.

You feel warm breath against your ear and hear a bemused voice.

"I told you that I was watching you."

You stiffen more.

"As you can see, I've got the gun and the duct tape is in the van. If you're a good little girl and don't scream then perhaps I won't use it across your pretty lips."

You try and turn to get a good look at your abductor, but the gun presses harder against you and decide that perhaps now isn't the time to fight.

Dropping the tangled mess of keys and electronics back into your purse, you tighten your lips and say, "Which way?"

"Straight ahead."

He guides you down the row, past your car where it would have been tempting to hit the alarm to garner attention, but you don't think it's wise, and really, who pays attention to those nowadays anyway?

Finally, you reach a non-descript white van in the further corner of the lot. He opens the door and with a smirk, he says, "After you," and pushes you in sending you sprawling.

With a mutinous glare you climb into the bay, empty save for the promised roll of duct-tape. The gun is quickly holstered and the roll of tape is waved in front of your face.

"Hands, please."

You open your mouth to say something and he waves a finger you, like he's chastising a little girl. "Not one word."

You eye the gun and he eyes you and you know that there is no way that you could possibly hope to best him, he's got too many advantages and you'd have trouble gaining purchase from which to attack from.

Your stick your hands out and they are quickly thoroughly wrapped from wrist to finger tip. Your ankles are soon summarily bound, making it almost impossible to move anymore than a few inches at a time.

He pauses, considers and then sets down the duct tape and undoes his tie.

"Open wide."

You consider the duct tape and reluctantly open your mouth. The balled-up fabric is unceremoniously shoved inside.

You begin to try and tongue the material out of your mouth, but freeze when you hear the rip of duct tape.

You moan against the gag and shake your head firmly no, accusation in your eyes as you stare at the tape.

Of course, it does nothing and soon the sticky stuff is solidly sealed against your skin.

"I lied," he says with a smile as he slams the door shut.

You quickly hear another door open and the engine turn on. If you squirm and turn your head just so you can see the reflection of his glasses in the rear-view mirror.

"Hope you're comfortable back there," he says politely. "We've a bit of a drive ahead of us."

You try and curse him out, but the only sounds you hear are words so muffled as to be meaningless and the sound of his laughter as he mocks your attempt.

You don't even bother trying to figure out where you might be. You're already in an unfamiliar area and your position doesn't allow you to see out the windshield. Instead you wriggle and scoot so that you can at least rest your back against one wall. He doesn't talk, and he doesn't turn on the radio, and the traffic is clear this day and soon to your chagrin the drone of the road lulls you to sleep.

***

You come-to when the door of the van is thrown wide open and late-afternoon sunlight floods the compartment.

"Wakey-wakey," he says cheerfully as he grabs you by the ankle and pulls you to the door and out onto the van onto the ground. Your feet have barely touched the ground before you feel yourself being hoisted up and over his shoulder, ass up in the air for all to see.  
You moan at the indignity of it and he smacks your ass sharply, but says nothing.

Soon you find yourself inside a warehouse, the only furniture a rickety-looking folding table. He dumps you ass-first onto the floor, before walking over to the table and grabbing a pair of scissors.

You think that he's going to cut away your bonds, but instead he makes quick work of your t-shirt and your bra quickly follows. You try and struggle as he turns over to rest on your hands and knees, but his strength and command of the situation is no match for the lingering shock of the situation and your bindings.

You tremble slightly as deft hands undo the fastenings on your jeans and soon they are down against your ankles hobbling you more. Two more quick snips and the remnants of your panties join your other ruined clothes before the scissors are casually tossed onto the table.

You try and push yourself up to get a better look at your captor but his foot pushes you back into position and finds purchase on your neck.

"See how little effort that took?" He asks almost mockingly as you hear a rustle of clothing and something sliding. "So little effort to get you exactly where I wanted you. You should have listened to me when I said this wasn't a game."

There's a whistle and then his belt connects with your ass and you scream against your gag. The belt lands several more times in succession, each time hitting and welting fresh skin.

"You should have listened to me when I told you to not kiss other girls, you little slut. You know I wouldn't tolerate this of my Claire so why would I let you get away with it?"

You aren't sure how many more times the belt connects, only that you're sobbing when he's finished, and your ass feels as if it's on fire.

You hear the belt drop to the floor and then his cool hand rub gently against your flushed skin, causing you to moan and lean back against it. Two fingers slide down your ass and find your center and to your mortification he slides in all-too-easy, you're wetter than you can ever remember being.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" he asks in amusement as begins to finger-fuck you none-too gently.

"If I'd known you were a pain slut I don't think I'd have gone so easily on you."

You're thankful that the duct tape probably hides a good amount of your blush, and you moan louder as his thumb strums your clit, playing you expertly as you try for more.

You moan your disappointment as his fingers leave you. There's a friendly swat to your heated ass before the tape on your mouth is torn away without warning causing you to scream once more.

You try to rest your head on your arms, but his clean hand wraps into your hair and yanks your head up. He quickly pulls the tie out. Before you can work the ache out of your jaw, the fingers that had been teasing you are forced into your mouth.

"Clean them."

The fingers are shoved deep enough that you can't deny him what he wants. You try to close your eyes, but he jerks on your hair once more and says, "Eyes on me."

You find it almost impossible to keep a steady glance on him, the mixture of lust, embarrassment and anger welling within you, but the tight grip makes it impossible to do anything but. Your teeth ever so slightly graze against the pads of his fingers. The fingers pull out immediately and with another firm tug, he says, "I strongly recommend keeping your teeth to yourself."

His face than softens ever so slightly. He lets go of our hair and opens a bottle of acherry sports drink from the table. Putting the bottle to your mouth, he tilts it back gently, allowing you to drink your fill. He frowns, makes you drink a little more before setting it aside.

You rock back, trying to settle on your heels to ease the strain of your position and he seems to allow it for now, content on circling around you and taking in your form, obviously enjoying your predicament if the bulge in his pants is any indication.

"I have a couple of questions for you. You may answer by saying 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' only. Am I understood?"

You get a little shiver up your spine when he says that.

"Yes, sir," you reply.

"You didn't quite believe that I was real, did you?"

You wish you could explain yourself, but your ass still smarts from the earlier beating, so you only answer, "No, sir."

"And so you'll pay more heed to my words in the future?"

You haven't quite decided if there was going to be a future, but say, "Yes, sir."

"And you understand that you're here to satisfy me?"

You shift on your knees again, trying to ignore the wetness that's impossible to ignore now. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

You hear the sound of pants unzipping and plastic unwrapping and so are unsurprised when moments later his hand is wrapped back into your hair, his dick pressed against your mouth demanding entrance.

You barely get your mouth open to suck the tip when with another sharp tug your mouth is forced open and he forces more and more of himself inside your mouth until you find your face pressed against him.

You struggle around him trying to get air and trying not to bite and he moans softly at the sensations that all your moans and whimpers send down his cock.

When he shows you mercy and pulls off, it isn't for long and he begins to fuck your face in earnest, the punishing speed leaving you to do nothing but let him use you for his enjoyment, just as he promised.

"So mouthy," he gasped. "Knew I could put it to better use."

You think you also hear him call you a slut or a whore, and you know it's wrong but you find it kind of hot and you're wishing your hands weren't bound so you could touch yourself when he pulls away from you.

Your moan echoes his and soon you find yourself being picked up once more and lain against the table.

The scissors are back in his hands and you hear him ask, "I don't need to tell you not to kick, do I?"

There's no hesitation. You want this as bad as he does. "No, sir."

"Good girl," he replies as he sets about cutting the tape at your ankles. Your pants are shoes are quickly dispatched with and suddenly you're being flipped over onto your back, your sore ass protesting as it hits the rough surface.

You don't have much time to think about it as your legs are quickly thrown over his shoulders. He slowly slides into you and doesn't stop until he's buried to the hilt. You moan his name as you try and get used to sudden fullness.

The hands on your thighs are tight enough to bruise but the throb of your ass and the punishing pace he's quickly setting make that grip just another dull throb in the sensory overload that is quickly becoming your body.

He keeps pounding into you, taking you, claiming you, and marking you as his. One hand leaves your thigh and moves up to your chest, pinching and tugging at your nipples, enjoying watching the little nubs harden before twisting them and making you moan even louder.

You're almost constantly whimpering now, your body is racked with sensation, but it isn't enough to bring you off. You aren't quite sure when you start to beg, when the "pleases" mix with "touch me" and "harder," only that his eyes begin to shine in triumph and only it is then that his fingers begin to playing with your clit.

Your legs clinch tighter around him and it only takes a few more strokes before you moan one last time, the pleasure crashing into you as hard as any of his thrusts. You're so lost in your own sensations that you're barely aware when he finishes himself, only that your legs have been lowered and that his fingers are at your lips again for you to clean. You don't even protest, just do as your told.  
"Good girl," he croons.

You watch him take a sip from the sports bottle before he puts it back to your lips for you to finish off. Once the bottle is empty you try and push yourself up and off the table only to be pushed down once more, but much more gently.

"Stay there," he tells you.

Your leverage isn't good, and you're tired and you can't exactly go anywhere in your current state, so you comply. You soon feel a cool wash-cloth running over your body, wiping away sweet and your fluids.

The touch is so soft and gentle—so unlike anything else he's given you in this room that your eyes flutter shut briefly.  
Your eyes shoot open moments later as another cloth is placed over your nose and mouth. The light-headedness only lasts for seconds before you black out entirely.

\--  
When you waken it's to the sound of concerned knocking on your car window. It's pitch black outside, well after nightfall, and when you turn your head you can see a mall cop trying to look in with his flashlight.

"Are you okay miss?" you hear his muffled voice ask.

You turn on the engine—the keys have thoughtfully been placed in the ignition—and roll down the window. You make-up an excuse about a nap lasting for longer than you'd anticipated. If he's not quite buying your excuse, well, he knows he can't do anything about it either, so he merely passes you his business card and wishes you well.

Sighing in relief, you take a moment to gather your senses.

Shifting in your seat to try and alleviate some stiffness of having sat in one position for who knows how long it immediately becomes apparent that while he bothered to dress you, he didn't bother to give you new lingerie. Your pants have been replaced by a skirt and the ruined t-shirt by a thin blouse that highlights the fact that you aren't wearing a bra. Pushing up the sleeves you can see tiny remnants of the duct tapes glue on your skin, and rubbing your ankles you can feel the adhesive there as well.

A quick glance to the side and you find your purse on the passenger's seat, everything intact.

You still aren't sure quite what to make of everything that's happened to you this afternoon, only that you're desperate for a hot bath and a good drink.

Traffic is mercifully light and your mind wanders about all that's been done. By the time you pulled in your space there's dampness on your thighs that you don't previously remember. You all but rush into the bathroom to run your bath and take care of your needs when you stop dead cold at the sight of a white envelope on your bed, resting a top the only salvageable clothing for earlier, your jeans.  
You don't bother to open it. There's no need to.

You know he knows where you live, and that he would go to the trouble of bringing home your pants and leaving a note tells you one thing: He's not done with you, not by a long shot.

And though you know you shouldn't be, you can't wait for the next encounter.


End file.
